Speak Easy, My Friends
by CSIvHP11
Summary: "Prohibition is the trigger of crime." - Ian Flemming, Goldfinger. 1920s AU. Bering and Wells.


**Warehouse 13  
Prohibition AU**  
**Bering and Wells**

_"Prohibition... goes beyond the bounds of reason in that it attempts to control mans' appetite through legislation and makes a crime out of things that are not even crimes..." - Abraham Lincoln_

_"Prohibition is the trigger of crime." - Iam Flemming, Goldfinger_

It was a tense silence that filled the room. Patrons sat with shallow breaths. The band held their instruments still. The singer kept her hand over her microphone. The bartender eyed the only relaxed couple.

The woman in the suit was reclined gracefully in her chair; her hat, the only piece of female clothing she wore, did its job of holding her dark curls up. The other woman, this one in a Royal Air Force uniform, was leaning close, her hand dangerously high on the suited woman's thigh. They were whispering to each other so softly that, even in the noiseless room, they couldn't be heard.

The women were the only ones who didn't jump when someone knocked twice on a secret panel. The one in the suit lightly pushed the other away, the stood up. She stalked across the room; her green eyes inspected each person she passed. More than a few felt relief course through their body under her soft gaze. She wouldn't let any harm come to them.

She knocked twice on the wall next to an old war propaganda poster. Two more knocks answered her, and she pressed a button on the bottom of the light feature attached to the wall. A small portion of the wall swung forward, revealing another wall with a grate at eye level. A young girl was looking through the grate. Only her dark eyes and dirt smudged nose were visible.

"Neilson and Lattimer," the girl said.

The woman nodded, and swung the wall back into place. She walked across the room, to a bare section of floor next to the stage. She lifted the section up. It opened to a set of stairs leading to a dark tunnel.

A hand rested on her shoulder before she could start down the stairs. She turned to see the singer crouched on the edge of the stage.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" the singer asked.

The woman smiled. "Leena, it's just Artie and Pete. I'll be fine."

Leena looked at her for a moment, then nodded and closed the passage once she had reached the bottom of the stairs.

The passage was lightless, but the woman knew every step. It wasn't long before she reached the staircase on the other end, this one leading up to her actual business. When she reached the wall at the top of the stairs, she flipped open a small hole. Slowly, as to not hurt her eyes, she leaned forward to look through the hole. The mirror on the opposite wall let her see the entire room on the other side. After making sure it was empty, she pulled the latch that opened the door.

She walked into the room, the back room for her store, and did a quick check to make sure she was presentable. After tucking a few stray strands of hair back under her hat, she walked to the front room.

An older detective was watching the doorway as she walked through it. He gave a curt nod when he saw her. His younger partner was leaning against one of the many shelves while talking to the girl who had spoken through the grate.

The girl, dressed in dirty trousers and a loose shirt, looked out of place in the company of the three suited adults. The young detective, however, talked to her like an equal.

"Claudia," the woman said. The girl looked over at her. "Can you go get us some drink? I believe we may still have some of that iced tea left."

Claudia nodded and quickly left the room. Myka turned to the men.

"Detectives, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"This is strictly business, Mrs. Martino," the older man said.

"Bering," she instantly corrected. "Sam's been dead nearly ten years now."

The younger man looked down at the ground, his gaze hard. She felt the urge to go comfort him. He had grown up with Sam.

"But would he approve of this little business of yours?" the older man pressed.

Her heart clenched. Was he really so low as to use her husband against her? She could still feel the pain that had shot through her when the war officials had given her the news. Pushing the pain down, she gave him a small smile.

"I sell books," she said, looking lovingly at the shelves around them. "What's not to approve?"

"Myka, you know what he means," the younger man cut in.

Myka smiled at him. "I sell books, Pete. Nothing more."

"This isn't a game," Artie grumbled. "Possession, consumption, and distribution of alcohol is illegal."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not involved in any of that."

Artie glared at her, but she held her smile.

"I understand the law, gentlemen, and have no desire to find myself on the wrong side."

"What took you so long to answer our call?" Artie pushed.

"I'm dreadfully afraid that fault lies with me."

The woman in the uniform stood at the end of the aisle. She was holding the tray of iced tea Claudia had gone to get.

"Your fault, Sergeant Wells?" Artie questioned.

She nodded and walked towards them. "I had her ensnared in the most invigorating game of chess I have played this side of the water. I have been awaiting my arrival in this fine city for the pure purpose of challenging her, so I simply could not let her leave until I had beaten her." She passed the glasses around as she spoke.

"Did you?" Pete asked. "Beat her?"

She leveled her gaze at Myka. "Thoroughly, I assure you."

"Helena always… beats me. I never stand a chance," Myka added.

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, darling, you always put up quite a fight."

"Right," Artie cut in. He looked at Myka. "If we hear any more rumblings, we will be forced to search the premises."

"I have nothing to hide," she told him.

He glared at her, the motioned for Pete to follow him out.

"It was nice seeing you again, Myka," Pete said.

"As always. Take care of yourself," she replied. He nodded and followed Artie. Myka turned to Helena once they heard the door close. "You always beat me, huh?"

"At chess, darling, I do," Helena replied as she stepped into Myka's space. "Your offense is weak, and you always leave your kings left flank unprotected." She unbuttoned Myka's jacket as she spoke, then slid her arms around her waist. "There are, of course, plenty of games in which you naturally come out victor."

Myka grinned, then leaned down and captured Helena's lips briefly, well aware of the fact that anyone could walk in off the street. "You will have to show me a few of those games."

Helena laughed. "Oh, I do plan on it, but not until after your friends retire for the night."

Myka rolled her eyes, the pulled away from Helena. "We need to go tell them the detectives are gone."

She led Helena into the back room, then into the hidden passage. As soon as they were off the stairs, and on level ground, Helena pressed Myka against the well and attacked her neck.

Myka moaned, and gave in for a few moments. Feeling Helena's lips on her skin forced away the worry that had settled in her stomach.

When Helena's hands moved from their positions on her hips, and began to unbutton her shirt, however, Myka lightly pushed her back.

"I'm terribly sorry, love, but there is something about you in this suit that simply drives me wild," Helena breathed in Myka's ear.

"I am perfectly alright with that, just not here, not now," Myka hissed. "What if someone comes through?"

"Oh, pish posh. Only Steven, Claudia, or Leena would come through before knowing that the detectives are gone, and we are still safe. Steven is too logical to take such an action, and our dear singer and street rat are most likely the caught up in each other to do anything."

She pressed forward again, but Myka held her back.

"We still can't, the customers need to know the detectives are gone so they can leave for the night."

Helena groaned, then leaned up and gently kissed Myka before pulling away fully.

"Let us go inform your customers that their illegal activities shall continue to go unpunished, then convince them to leave so we can resume our games."


End file.
